


his voice is a familiar sound

by littlelocaldreamer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2014-2015 NHL Season, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Morning Sex, Past tense references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelocaldreamer/pseuds/littlelocaldreamer
Summary: They’ve never slept in the same bed together before.





	his voice is a familiar sound

**Author's Note:**

> title from "wildest dreams"

Patrick’s breath stutters in his chest, hands momentarily losing their grip on Jonny’s broad, sweaty shoulders.

He woke cocooned in covers with Jonny pressed all along his back, morning wood snug against his ass. He moaned feebly, unsure if he was dreaming. 

Then Jonny breathed a quiet, “Peeks” while wrapping a strong arm around his middle and barely minutes later they arrived here: naked and panting with Patrick in Jonny’s lap.

It’s early. There’s no sound but their shared breaths. 

Jonny noses at Patrick’s neck, inhaling deeply and not even bothering to hide it. 

“God,” Patrick sighs, shuffling closer. 

They’ve never been like this before. Though Jonny’s done a poor job of hiding from him the fact that he wanted to.

Patrick’s not an idiot—despite embarrassing past behaviors—he can actually read people pretty well. It’s part of what makes him such a threat on the ice. 

He’s always been able to categorize a specific person by the role they’re going to play in his life and leave any confusion behind by doing so. He has sisters, parents, coaches, teammates, trainers, childhood friends, one night stands, and women he sometimes sees more than once. 

He knows the part he plays in their lives and vice versa. There’s a line and they fall into it. There’s a script and they all live by it. There’s an expectation and Patrick follows it. 

But Jonathan Toews? Pat’s never been able to crack his code.

Patrick never even thought he’d be into men until he met Jonny. Eating, sleeping, skating, winning, losing, growing—all of this they did together for years. 

It got to the point where Jonathan simply didn’t fit into only one aspect of Patrick’s life, but many. 

And then it got messy. 

He recalls reading a psychology study in school once. It said that the more time two people spend around one another, the more likely they are to fall for each other from nothing more than pure proximity alone. 

Patrick scoffed at it, berated it in his head. Because he was usually only surrounded by men, typically— and he wasn’t gay.

Even if brief glimpses in the locker room sometimes made his palms sweat and his chest go tight. 

He wasn’t into guys. 

But then every summer Jonny would come back to Chicago looking better than the year before. 

And, well. 

It got harder to ignore his presence. 

Patrick carried on. 

Then one night, bitter from a horrible loss and so disappointed in himself he could barely think, he fucked up and stared a little too long in the showers—transfixed as water cascaded down Jonny’s thick, tanned abs. Confused and panicking as his dick twitched, he dragged his eyes away and up—only to find Jonny already staring back.

Patrick lost his breath. 

He scrambled to finish getting clean, cursing when shampoo got in his eye and nearly shouting as he stubbed his toe reaching for his towel. 

He ran out the door and into the crisp fall night practically soaking wet under his clothes, anxious and near hyperventilating.

Jonny called him hours later, close to midnight. 

Patrick watched his contact picture light up then fade out as he ignored it.

Not even a week later, Lindsey started coming to practices.

Patrick pretended it didn’t hurt—always appearing unbothered. Hockey came first no matter what and shouldn’t Jonny focus on that? Weren’t distractions frowned upon? Patrick would wonder. And then he would ignore the sick, fluttering feeling in his stomach when they would kiss at team events out of the corner of his eye. It was fine. Patrick was fine. 

He ended up meeting his own girl. Though it took nearly three months for him to actually ask her out. But when he did, Amanda readily agreed. 

After that, Jonny distanced himself from Pat off the ice, barely speaking to him outside of captaincy duty. 

Then the game against the Panthers happened. 

Patrick remembers the look on Jonny’s face— first alarm, then sheer anger. He remembers Jonny coming with him to the trainers, all color draining from his face as he realized it wasn’t a quick fix but a broken collarbone. 

He tried not to but Patrick couldn’t help when the tears gathered and started to fall, glancing down at a blurry examination table. He was so tired and in so much pain. The best career season of his life—flickering out before his eyes. 

He remembers Jonny’s eyes going all crazy intense, sharp focus narrowed in and directed on Pat alone. “We’re gonna make it, Kaner. You’re gonna heal up and the team’s gonna be ready. Gonna go all the way.”

And during recovery, in the comfort of his own home, it was Jonny who nursed him back to health, not Amanda. 

Patrick grunts, blinking sweat out of an eye as his movements momentarily lose control. He needs to stop thinking.

“C’mon Peeks,” Jonny urges, licking at his chin, “that’s it—“

They’ve never done this before. Never touched like this before. 

Patrick can already tell it’s going to take him down.

It’s early enough still that the sunlight streaming through Jonny’s tall windows is weak and muted—nowhere close to its full potential yet. 

They went out with the boys to celebrate Patrick’s first week return to the team, collarbone healed and cleared to go. 

He barely remembers coming home with Jonny, drunkenly holding his hand in the elevator. 

They stopped in the kitchen for water before Jonny led them down the hall, passing the guest bedroom and slipping off his clothes along the way before collapsing face first into his massive bed.

“You can sleep here,” he muttered dreamily into his pillow, pulling blankets up and around him from the winter chill outside. 

Patrick’s heart pounded so hard, ringing inside his head. He stripped before climbing in with little hesitation. Alcohol was a gift and a curse in that way. 

They’ve never slept in the same bed together before. If they had—

Patrick gulps, tensing up. 

“Fuck—Pat,” Jonny whispers, clutching at his ribs, aptly watching the space between their bodies where Patrick moves his hips in a slow, sensual grind. 

“Jonny, I—“

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut. He hysterically thinks they must still be drunk, that’s the only explanation for why he’s so into this.

“Fuck, Jon—we—“

Jonny’s hands tighten on his skin, clinging frantically. “Feels so good, Peeks. Yeah?”

Patrick drops his forehead down on Jonny’s shoulder, moving against him in a way so unrestrained it almost scares him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing his nose into Jonny’s neck, “fuck—yes.”

He can’t stop moving, he’s so keyed up. He’s never felt like this with any girl—never knew he could feel so desperate for skin against skin, sweat mixing with sweat. He pulls himself back, has to see Jonny, feeling delirious.

He keeps repeating how he’s still drunk in his head—

“No one has to know,” he whispers aloud, words slurring slightly, biting at the jut of Jonny’s cheekbone.

Something flashes behind Jonny’s eyes, but then he just hauls Patrick even closer, big hands coming around to clutch tightly at his ass, consuming and possessive. 

“I’d fuck you like this,” Jonny says, harsh and heated, “keep you on my cock for hours—“

Patrick’s face burns at the thought, ashamed and humiliated. His cock weeps in response. 

Jonny leans up, into his space, brushing his lips against Patrick’s in the softest of touches. “You’d ride me better than any girl, yeah?”

“Ohh—fuck—“ Patrick whines and kisses him, closing his eyes as he nods, shy and scared and so, so confused. 

He wraps his arms around Jonny’s neck, wondering briefly how this escalated so quickly. They’ve fallen asleep drunk together before, across the room from one another. But it never, they never—

Jonny breaks the kiss, guiding Patrick’s head to turn with his nose. He latches onto the thin, sensitive skin of his neck and begins brutally sucking on it in a way that feels like punishment. 

“Ahh—god—“ Patrick’s thighs quiver as Jonny bites down, hands kneading at his ass as Patrick continues to thrust against him, needing more but losing energy even in his all-consuming lust. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want it, he feels it in his throat how badly he does—but his head is swimming from last night’s drinks and his body is aching and sore from a brief tumble down the ice. And he—he—

“Jonny,” he begs, voice high like he’s never heard before, “I want—please, I—“

Jonny pulls off his neck with a loud smack, digging his fingers even harder into his ass. He noses at Patrick’s cheek, voice low and seductive as he asks, “You want me to lay you down, baby?”

God, how many times has he said that to hookups? To Lindsey? 

Patrick whimpers under his breath when he thinks of her, solidly tightening his hold in an uncharacteristically avaricious move. 

“Yeah?” Jonny asks again, cautious and tender. 

Patrick doesn’t trust his voice, ducks down and hides his face in Jonny’s neck as he nods a coy affirmation. 

Then they’re being flipped, and Patrick’s always fought internally on his size—put himself down, straightened his stance, begged the universe to be bigger—but when Jonny wraps him up inside his grasp, hovering over him as their positions reverse, Patrick realizes with horror how much he likes the feeling. 

Normally he’s the one pulling this move, leaning down to lick at a pair of perky tits while he brushes long, silky soft locks across the curve of his pillows.

But there’s no girl here. 

It’s just them.

And it hits Patrick’s brain then in a fucked sort of way how he’s the girl here, under Jonny and in his bed. It’s the only way he can think about it—the only way he can think about this at all right now. 

He arches his hips and spreads his thighs, feeling wanton and slutty. 

“Jonny,” he mutters, trailing his fingers lightly up Jonny’s back and over his shoulder blades. He’s covered completely by him, unable to hide from his unwavering gaze in this position. 

“Pat.”

Jonny moves a hand into his hair, wild and unkept from the night before. 

“God. Love when it’s like this,” he whispers thoughtfully, sliding a finger through it. 

The words hit Patrick with a force much more powerful than he’s prepared to face. He doesn’t respond and instead turns his face away, briefly unsettled. 

Jonny dips a couple more fingers into his hair and tugs at it, maybe a little too hard.

“Look at me,” he demands, breathless and flushed. 

Patrick doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to face how he’s actually much more sober than he initially realized.

Jonny makes a frustrated noise, diving back in and kissing him like a man swimming towards the surface, needing only Patrick—not even air.

“Jonny,” Patrick tries to say, but it’s swallowed up in Jonny’s mouth—breath taken away.

They stay like that, aggressively making out and moving against each other like waves in the sea—the ebb and flow of their bodies dragging Patrick back down under the weight of his arousal. 

“Get me off,” he whimpers, breaking the kiss with a shiver, “Jonny, please—“

“Say you want it,” comes the gasping reply, “tell me how much you need me—“

And Patrick—he can’t. 

He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need Jonny—

“Tell me,” Jonny pleads, voice breaking. 

But Patrick can’t have that—can’t be the reason Jonny sounds like they just lost the cup to the Blues. 

“Want you,” he confesses, meaning it—words leaving his mouth in a quick rush like they cost something. “Need you so bad.”

Jonny drops down on top of him, moving over and into his body with his full weight. He licks a palm then takes Patrick’s cock in his hand, stroking him dirty and fast as he leans down and spills filth into his ear. 

“Next time I’ll put my cock in you,” words said with daring conviction, “make you feel me for days—“

Patrick cries out, fist flying to his mouth to cover the sound, and spurts slick all up between them, shaking and moaning and trembling in Jonny’s hold as he lets go.

Jonny’s hand gets coated in come, and he leans back and up, grabbing his own cock and knee walking up along Patrick’s chest. Patrick doesn’t even try to stop him, pulse pounding in his temples from how hard his orgasm wracks through his entire body. 

“Open your mouth,” Jonny orders, desperate and urgent, brow furrowed. 

“Patrick,” he says. 

“Please,” he sighs. 

Patrick does what he’s told. And he’s so afraid to think that there probably won’t ever be a time when he won’t listen to what Jonny wants. 

He closes his eyes at the first splash of warm liquid, hitting his chin and part of his cheekbone. He widens his pink, wet mouth—tongue sliding out to lick compulsively at his bitten raw bottom lip. 

“Baby,” Jonny whispers, sounding wounded. 

Patrick keeps his eyes closed.

**Author's Note:**

> patrick kane and jonathan toews. big fucking sigh. tumblr: littlelocaldreamer88


End file.
